


Their offers should not charm us (their evil gifts would harm us)

by yelp



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Bondage, Cum drinking, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Kink Meme, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Shameless Smut, Succubus, Touch-Starved, Trust Kink, i lifted most of these tags straight from the prompt, mercy kink, no beta we die like renfri, super mild weight gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:07:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24236272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yelp/pseuds/yelp
Summary: "I can't release you," said the witcher. "Not like this. You'd—""Seduce the first human I saw? Maybe even that bard of yours. Swallow him entire, without stopping to taste." She pressed a kiss to the inside of his palm, all muscle and callus, while he kept oh-so-patiently still, as if he held feed for a wild animal. "No, I couldn't stop myself from taking all of him, even if I tried. But you... There's so much more of you to take."*A starving succubus can't feed from a human without killing him. But a witcher is another story.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 127





	Their offers should not charm us (their evil gifts would harm us)

**Author's Note:**

> For [this prompt](https://witcherkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/429.html?thread=435117) on the kink meme. The title is from The Goblin Market, by Christina Rossetti. Alternate title would have been this entire stanza, but it didn't fit in the box.
> 
> _She cried, “Laura,” up the garden,  
>  “Did you miss me?  
> Come and kiss me.  
> Never mind my bruises,  
> Hug me, kiss me, suck my juices  
> Squeez’d from goblin fruits for you,  
> Goblin pulp and goblin dew.  
> Eat me, drink me, love me;  
> Laura, make much of me;  
> For your sake I have braved the glen  
> And had to do with goblin merchant men.”_

"Don't," the witcher's arm shot out, barring his companion mid-step, "touch." 

In the torchlight, his face was grim and deadly, all angles and shadow, and even his companion seemed wary, or at least startled enough to break free of the trance that was just starting to take. 

"I wasn't going to—" He cleared his throat. "Well okay, maybe I was, but I just wanted to help. Just look at her lying there, in that condition."

"She has no _control_ , in that condition. One touch, and she'll drain the life out of you."

Even in chains, her spell thwarted, the succubus found herself preening slightly. If the witcher believed it, he was severely overestimating her abilities—but, in what she now knew to be her final moments, she'd take the compliment for what it was. 

A witcher, honestly. For little old her? She was a wreck of a creature in her filthy bed of hay, in a barn so run-down the humans no longer saw fit to keep even livestock in it. Her wrists were chained behind her back, in manacles that felt looser and looser as the days went by, her clothes tattered and torn, revealing most of her nude and emaciated flesh. From what she could see of her once copper-bright hair, it had dulled to a tarnished dun, and one of the horns that curved back from her head had gotten tangled in the links of her chains days ago, and no one had helped her release it. If those men needed to pay coin to have her killed in this state, it could only be because they didn't trust themselves to keep it in their pants long enough to do the deed themselves.

"You think those men knew what she was?" said the witcher's companion. A bard, perhaps, from the lute on his back, and how pale and soft his arm looked, holding up the torch. "Why did they just leave her chained up in here? They should have called you from the start."

The witcher's jaw tightened. "They knew."

"What do you mean, they knew? How do you know that they knew? Oh. _Ohhh_. Oh."

Yes, they certainly did know, thought the succubus. They knew what she was, but like so many idiots, they thought it made her simply a warm body to lay with. Until they found they couldn't stay away. Until they returned to her, again and again, fully knowing they went to their death. Was it her fault for consuming the feast that they'd forced upon her? Was it her fault for biting what was put to her lips? She smiled up coyly at the witcher, and saw his face harden in clear answer. The pitiful humans had brought it on themselves, but he didn't agree. 

And a witcher wouldn't make the same mistake as they had. 

"Go back to the inn," he said, without taking his eyes off her.

"Are you crazy? I'm not leaving you alone with her! She's killed five people already. Five!"

The witcher drew his swords, both of them. 

"Well. I guess when you put it like that," said the bard, who didn't seem eager to watch the execution. "Just be careful. If you're not back in, in a reasonable amount of time, I'm going to come find you! Don't think I won't!" He put the torch in a bracket, dug a keyring from his pocket, and hung it up under the torch. The succubus found her eyes fixing on it, the black metal keys still swaying slightly, clinking against each other. So close, and yet an an impossible distance—not to mention a witcher—lay between her and the freedom they promised.

"So soft-hearted," she purred, once they were alone. "You didn't wish to subject his tender eyes to my slaying?" She inclined her head back as far as the chains, and her trapped horn, would allow, baring the pale line of her throat in invitation. When she swallowed, she saw the movement catch his attention, and hold it. 

The witcher set his swords down, shrugged off his armor. Down to a thin shirt that clung to him, he approached with a wariness that was flattering. Bent down to her level, reached for her throat—"You prefer the hands-on approach, I take it," she said, and refused to shut her eyes—and touched her neck, just the backs of his knuckles, with a gentleness that made her keen. He made no move to turn his hand over, to harm, to strangle, to complete his contract.

"Not so soft-hearted after all," she laughed huskily, unable to stop herself from lowering her cheek and nuzzling against his wrist, the lean muscle of his forearm, craving any touch at all, but relishing the heat of him against her cool skin. It was like a tiny sip of water in the desert, one that only made her yearning more desperate and pronounced. "You would tease a dying creature like this? Torment me with what I can't have?"

"I can't release you," said the witcher. "Not like this. You'd—"

"Seduce the first human I saw? Maybe even that bard of yours. Swallow him entire, without stopping to taste." She pressed a kiss to the inside of his palm, all muscle and callus, while he kept oh-so-patiently still, as if he held feed for a wild animal. "No, I couldn't stop myself from taking all of him, even if I tried. But you... There's so much more of you to take." She squirmed around in her chains, until she could slide her her hip along his inner thigh. At her best, she could inflame a man with a look, a gesture, but worn and bound, she had to resort to base measures like this: friction, and pressure, and crude sensation. "Why not have your enjoyment of me before you finish me? Send me from this world with a full belly." The witcher didn't move away from her, an encouraging sign. So they were men, after all. "What do you say, witcher?"

What he said was, "Hmm," but from the tone, she could tell she almost had him. "You'd allow me?"

"Allow you?" She turned to angle her ass toward him, but was brought up frustratingly short by the chains. On her knees, caught against her bonds, she spread her legs and leaned forward to give him a good look. "I crave you, witcher. I don't want to die like this, hungering and empty. Won't you grant me my last meal?"

Finally, finally, he put his hand on her, tracing the curve of her ass down to the slick cleft below. His finger teased at her entrance, and she tried to buck backwards, take it in, but the restraints wouldn't let her, and she groaned with need. "Please, witcher," she begged, and that seemed to be all he needed. There was the blessed sound of fabric against fabric against floor, and then he was behind her again, the heat of his bare skin warming her, one hand wrapped around her waist, holding her firmly in position. She was so wet with need that he slid home in one smooth, slow thrust, and for a long moment he just held her there on his cock, filled and helpless and wanting. When he began to fuck her in earnest, she could have cried at the relief, the sensation, the sweet friction of him moving inside her, filling every inch of her, again and again.

Between the chains, and his hands, just as implacable, she couldn't move an inch, couldn't adjust the angle, or the speed, but she wouldn't have done it anyway, for risk of ending this unexpected feast prematurely with a wrong move. When he groaned his release, she felt it bodily, a hot flood that drenched her pussy and filled her entire being at once, with heat, and life, and energy. Behind her, the witcher stumbled, leaning against her heavily. 

"Lightheaded?" she teased, buoyant with pleasure and satisfaction, the very sharpest edges of her all-consuming hunger finally dulled. Oh, she was still hungry, but it was more than she'd expected to receive, when she'd spotted her executioner in the doorway. He was paying the price for it, but as a witcher, he would have reserves to spare. 

He pulled out with another low, throaty sound, this time pained, and as a mixture of his seed and her slick dripped down her leg, he pushed her down into the hay. She went without protest, twisting so she could look up at him. He was still wearing that shirt, and his shoes, but he was naked from waist to ankle. His penis bobbed in front of him, slick and engorged and tempting. 

"Let me clean you, witcher," she said, and wet her lips deliberately. 

Movements uncoordinated, the witcher reached past her, and found the chain that tangled her horn. Struggled for a moment, before he managed to unravel it. 

Able move her head freely at last, she surged to her knees, with equal grace to what the witcher had lost, and lowered her face to his lap, now just within reach, even with her hands bound behind her. She looked up at him through her lashes, and began to lap at his cock, a flimsy pretense until he moved close enough for her to slurp it into her mouth.

"You look different," he said abruptly, as if unmoved, though she could feel the evidence otherwise, stirring against her tongue. Ah, witcher stamina. 

He sounded a little dazed, probably still weakened by the transfusion, and his hand wasn't fully steady as he touched her face, measured the curve of her newly rounded cheek, and then lowered his hand to cup her breast. She didn't have the ability to answer with her mouth full, beyond a pleased hum that rewarded her with another twitch, but he seemed to have the answer himself. "You're feeding on me. It's... filling you out." As if amazed, he palmed both hands down the sides of her waist, and then touched her belly, round where it had earlier been practically concave. "How much more...?"

Finally, she let the cock pop from her lips, still dribbling with saliva, and sat up to give him a wet, lingering kiss. "I can go as long as you're willing, witcher. I won't take more than you can give." She leaned backwards, giving him a good view of her new curves that he seemed to admire so much, and he leaned forward with her, as if pulled. He took hold of her breasts, and slid his cock between them, seeming to marvel at the plush fullness of them against his hard length as he moved back and forth. 

"Witcher," she said, when she could tell he was close. "Let me drink you."

He paused in his motion, and she bucked her chest, encouraging him to move forward. When he finally slid into her mouth, she moaned around him, tasting the bitter, salty tang of him on her tongue. His hands found her horns, almost tentative until she relaxed her throat, taking him all the way in, and then he gripped them in earnest, using them to guide her head while he fucked into her mouth and throat. He pulled out just far enough that, when he came, the seed spilled onto her mouth, coating her tongue. She swallowed every last drop, and swiped her tongue out to capture the dribble that tried to escape her lips. 

He sank back to his haunches, out of range of her mouth—deliberately? A human would have been dead by now, but he just looked woozy. She was nearly sure she could pull another orgasm out of him at least, if she could tempt him into it. Sinking back, she extended her bare leg, admiring in the firelight how the length of it was filled out with flesh now. Landed on his bare thigh, and toe-walked up the thin cloth covering his chest, until she bumped his chin.

"As long as you're willing," she repeated, and was delighted when he bent to kiss the top of her shin, and then lick his way up her leg. All the way up. 

It was almost morning by the time he collapsed against her, well and truly spent. She couldn't blame him. Even well fed, she was exhausted herself, muscles weak, head lolling, satiated for the first time in recent memory. If it weren't for the chains holding her up, she would have fallen right over underneath him. "I thank you, witcher," she panted, trying to catch her breath. "I hadn't thought to experience this again. If I could trouble you, to do it now... This is how I'd like my last moments to feel."

With a deep groan, the witcher stirred, pulling out of her with a wet sound. He would be aching and weak by now, and carried his head stiffly, as if sudden movements hurt him. With a fastidiousness she wouldn't have expected, he found a rag in his discarded clothes, and wiped her dripping pussy, then himself. Dressed, in pants, the shirt he'd eventually lost, and mail, pausing every few motions to breathe heavily, and rub heavily at his eyes. Maybe she'd taken a little too much, but she couldn't find it in her to regret it. The twin swords, he slid back into their sheaths with a clang full of promise, and then he staggered over to the keyring hanging on a nail by the door. 

"Your stamina is to be commended," she said carefully, as he unlocked her chains, waiting to see what position he required, that he had to risk freeing her. Did he think he could subdue her even now, even after having fed her so richly? "Or perhaps it's those who made you who deserve that praise." 

Pins and needles flooded her arms, as she moved them for the first time in weeks. To her surprise, the witcher placed his hands on her back, and began to run them up and down her shoulders, massaging some of the sensation back into them, before he moved on to her arms. When he stood, she backed away instinctively, wary at this sudden kindness in a way she hadn't been of the sex. 

"Why did you release me?" she said, when he made no move to advance. 

"You're no threat to others now," he said. "Now that you're," he grimaced, touching his temple, "fed."

"You, witcher, will not slay me," she said. "A monster." It felt like something important to get straight. "You'd let me go free. I could seduce that bard of yours, for my dessert. Just a hypothetical," she added, when his yellow eyes narrowed to slits, and hastily tried to get up, before he changed his mind.

"As long as you don't hurt him," he caught her arm when she staggered, and helped her to stand, releasing her when she was steady on her feet. "I'd say that's his own business."


End file.
